was of the roughest description, and sometimes we had to hold on with all our might to avoid the concussion of our heads with the wooden roof.  In spite of this, as soon as the Kaffirs saw an open space before them, the huge whip was cracked, and away went our team at full gallop, seemingly quite out of control, the driver leaning back in his seat with a contented grin, while his colleague manipulated the unwieldy whip.  The tract ran parallel to the Rand for some distance, and we got a splendid view of Johannesburg and the row of chimney-shafts that so clearly define the reef.

On passing Langlaate village, we were stopped by a party of Boers, who had off-saddled by the side of the road.  As they were fully armed and their appearance was not prepossessing, we expected to be ordered to alight while our conveyance was being searched.  However, our fears were unfounded, and they were most polite.  The driver muttered something in Dutch, whereupon the leader came to the door, and said in broken English:  “Peeck neeck—­I see all right.”  I am sorry to say one of the gentlemen of our party muttered “Brute” in an audible whisper; but, then, he had undergone a short, but a very unpleasant term of imprisonment, with no sort of excuse, at the instance of a Boer Veldtcornet, so no wonder he had vowed eternal vengeance.  Luckily, this officer did not hear, or else did not understand, the ejaculation, so after a civil interchange of good-days we drove on.

After about three hours we reached a shallow ford over a wide stream, and our driver informed us that this was our destination.  Leaving the carriage, we walked up to some rocks overlooking the stream, which seemed an inviting place for luncheon; but we were quickly driven away, as thereon were lying seven or eight carcasses of dead horses and mules.  Curiously enough, the vultures, or “aas-vogels,” had left the skins on these poor beasts, for I remember noticing how their coats glistened in the sunshine.  This sight was not very conducive to a good appetite, and a little farther on we saw another pathetic spectacle:  a very deep trench, made in the past by some gold-prospector, had been filled in with rocky boulders, and was covered with withered ferns.  Here lay those who had fallen of the Chartered Company’s Forces.  No doubt by now the space is enclosed as a tiny part of God’s acre, but at that time the rough stones in the deep grave, and the faded flowers, seemed to enhance the dreariness of the scene.[10] As to the locality of the final encounter and surrender of the Raiders, there was not much to interest any but military men.  Standing on the top of the eminence before alluded to, one could see the Boer position and the sore strait of their foes.  Whether the column had come purposely towards this drift, as being the only possible ford for many miles, or whether they had been guided thereto by a treacherous guide, no one knew.  One thing was certain:  destruction or surrender must have